


comeback

by winterfire22



Category: IT (2017), IT (2019)
Genre: Eddie Lives, M/M, Quickburn, Reddie, adult reddie, also lowkey, amputee eddie, bc cmon richie as a standup comedian in the movieverse is PERFECT, because they're Meant To Be, but just lowkey, but standup comedy is perf, but what it is; is..., by which i mean cannon complient with the '17 movie, cannon compliant except for the whole dating app aspect, childhood crush, dating app au, doing silly voices on the radio isnt rlly a job anymore i dont htink, dont worry abt it bc u will still Get everything!, fastburn, however if u just enjoyed the '17 movie and u havent read the book, i would call this, like the house just is engulfed in flame, nobody's DYING ok, pining richie, reddie dating app au, reddie soulmate au, reddie tinder au, standup comedian richie, there are some little pieces of book cannon sprinkled in, this is '17-'19 cannon but like, this isn't slowburn, tinder au, what if eddie and richie reconnected before the events of it 2019?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-18 21:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20319469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfire22/pseuds/winterfire22
Summary: richie's on a standup comedy tour, stopping in new york city for a few weeks. on a whim, he downloads tinder and accidentally re-connects with an old friend. (completed!!)





	1. 2012 pt. 1

_ come back to me, baby, i’ll come back to you _

1.

(when is tinder ever a good idea? pretty much never, you dumbass)

And yet, here goes Rich Tozier, mid thirties, recently sprouted his first gray hair (luckily it’s just the one for now and it was on his chin so it was easily removed), medium-famous stand-up comedian, chronically single, re-downloading the damned app. (so much for deleting your profile a few months ago am i right but that time all you got out of it was a two-night-stand with a grad student who wanted a sugar daddy or some shit)

He pauses when it asks him if he’s looking for men or women even though he knows the answer (has known the answer since middle school). He selects ‘men’.

Set up your profile, the app suggests. Headshot or candid or selfie? All his selfies are stupid, silly, taken just for fun in a moment of boredom or because his agent told him to make a post on Instagram. He glances around his rented New York City apartment bedroom for no real reason as he makes the decision. One of each, candid first, headshot second, selfie third. In his bio, he smacks down a stupid hap-hazard line; “If you pour milk before the cereal, GTFO”. Good enough. 

(oh fuck is that the time)

(no it’s the world’s first clock that displays coordinates instead of the time)

He drops his phone down on the bed, newly minted Tinder profile and all, and he goes to take a quick shower before his show.

+

Amid the rush of performing his biggest show yet, of the standing ovation he’d received, of the meet and greet after, he forgets about the app until the next morning. But then, as he’s pouring the cereal before the milk, he remembers about it. Idly swipes through forty or fifty guys, trapped in a haphazard state of hyperfocus as he eats his breakfast.

An email notification from his agent breaks the focus. He opens it, answers it, confirms that yeah sure he’d be down to stay in New York a few extra weeks to do a magazine interview and photoshoot and do ten minutes of standup for a charity show and do a radio interview, last night’s show really did go well, huh?

Restless, forgetting what he’d meant to do after responding to the email, he pulls on a jacket and his fancy noise-cancelling headphones and wanders outside to get a coffee or look at a thrift shop or something.

(oh right, he thinks five songs later; tinder)

If he’s going to be in the city for a whole nother month, he might as well see if he can find someone to get a drink with. 

(i can see the fuckin buzzfeed articles now; newly successful comedian rich tozier spotted at a hot nyc bar with up-and-coming musician chad ‘i’ll ghost you in a week’ fuckface the second)

He laughs a little at himself as he opens the app.

Omar, thirty-two, bathroom mirror selfie with flash on and a picture from someone’s wedding. No thanks. Justin, thirty-seven, box braids to his chest and super white teeth. Might as well. It’s not a match. Jacob, thirty-one, definitely owns shares in a winery from his home town based on the frat boy grin and the perfect hair. Probably not… eh, what the hell, sure. Eddie. Thirty-five. Dark hair. Dark brown eyes, softer than anything Rich has ever seen in his entire life. Familiar. Rich drops his phone in surprise, and it dangles from the headphone cord for a precarious second before he can grab for it.

(eddie, rich hears in his mind. eddie…. cooper? no that’s not it. eddie corcoran. that’s someone else. eddie kap… kaplan)

(no what the fuck is his last name it isn’t any of that but i know him fuck i know him)

(wait fuck what if i swiped left when i dropped my stupid iphone)

Hurriedly, he turns it right-side up in his hands and looks. He didn’t swipe left. Before he can fuck up any further, he swipes right.

IT’S A MATCH!

He can feel his pulse in his forehead. He shuts the music off. He’s blank, staring at the chat screen, trying to death to think of something to put there. Before he can, though;

Eddie: Hey, you wouldn’t be Richie Tozier from Derry, Maine, would you?

(oh my god… he remembers me… i AM richie tozier from derry maine what the fuck i dropped my -ie somewhere along the years but apparantly he didn’t drop his)

(eds, eddie spaghetti, eddie KASPBRAK)

Rich: The one and only. Fancy meeting you here. 

(oh fuck now he knows i’m gay)

(wait if he’s on dude tinder too that means he’s also gay ok phew crisis cancelled)

Rich: You live in NYC now? You munching on the big apple?

Eddie responds quickly.

Eddie: Yeah. Do you live here?

Rich: I live in Beverly Hills. I’m just here for a few weeks for work. 

(where do i know him from, obviously derry, we must’ve been………………. friends in school……….. oh yeah we used to play out in the barrens with some other guys and one time he came to the lake house with me and we stole one of dad’s beers and he used to carry around an inhaler and his mom was really fat and i used to make jokes about being in love with her)

Rich: How’s your mom, by the way? ;)

Eddie: Not great. Why, you still want to bang her after all these years?

Richie laughs out loud, taken off guard. He takes the headphones off and puts them around his neck, adjusts his glasses, and continues walking once he realizes he’s just been standing in the middle of the sidewalk ever since he matched with Eddie Kaspbrak from Derry.

Rich: Yeah, give her the phone would you? I have some choice dick pics just for her.

Eddie: You are exactly how I remember you.

(really ‘cause i barely remember you how the fuck is that even possible now that it’s coming back to me we used to hang out a lot like every single day you and me and stan the man and big bill and then eventually haystack and bev and mike?????? how do you forget your entire friend group oh my god guess you didn’t actually grow up friendless richie)

Rich: Same goes, Eddie Spaghetti. I’ll be around for a while. Maybe we could get a drink and catch up?

Eddie: Even though I pour milk into my bowl before the cereal?

Again, taken off guard, Richie laughs. This guy is funnier than he remembers. 

(wait i literally had the biggest fattest crush on him when we were kids didn’t i, i called him eddie-my-love and i carved our fucking initials into the kissing bridge and hugged him when)

(when)

(something bad happened, we went through something bad together, what the fuck was it oh well it’s fine it probably wasn’t that bad if i don’t even remember it)

(he broke his arm and someone wrote ‘loser’ on his cast so he changed it to ‘lover’)

Rich: Yeah, I can make an exception just this once for an old friend. 

Eddie: I’m so honored. 

Eddie: Can’t tonight but I’m free tomorrow after 7.

Richie scrambles to look at his Google calendar. He has a thing. Dammit. Oh, wait, it’s a dinner thing. It’s a dinner thing that starts at 6, so he should be able to slip out by 7:30. Thank God.

Rich: Name the place and I’ll meet you at 8.


	2. 2012 pt. 2

_ it's all coming back now _  
_ and the feeling isn't over _  
_ hey, i know i was lost _  
_ but i miss those days _

2.

In the end, Richie panics and puts on a tan Hawaiian shirt with pineapples and palm trees on it, which he’d found last month in a thrift store in Toronto for $3. In the end, he’s almost ten minutes late to meet up with Eddie Kaspbrak from Derry.

But he makes it. Feels a weird turning in his chest as he pays his cab driver and hops out in front of the bar. It’s a tasteful but fancy place, and Richie has a feeling the bill is going to end up being at least around fifty or sixty dollars. 

(not like i can’t afford it)

When he makes his way inside, the hostess politely asks for his coat. A huge step in a different direction from the Denny’s near his house in Beverly Hills he often ends up eating at.

He stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets as he wanders into the dining room. Glances around the tables. Eddie isn’t at any of them. But then; a thin man with a light blue button down shirt and black hair, sitting at the bar. Even from behind, Richie can tell it’s his guy.

(holy shit holy fuck ok tozier be cool damn just be cool it’s fine he already knows you’re a freak because you used to be friends with the guy so don’t worry about it ok he’s not going to think you’re stupid or crazy or whatever and even if he never wants to hang out again it’ll be nice to see an old friend right)

“Eddie?” Richie asks after lingering behind the guy for a few seconds.

He turns. Smiles.

(oh my fucking godddddddddd oh no that’s really him isn’t it oh my godddddd)

Richie at least has slightly better self control skills than he had as a kid. He pushes down the instincts of the thirteen year old version of himself that still lives in his mind every once in a while. He manages to stop himself from shouting ‘someone got hot!’ and he also manages to keep from grabbing the guy and kissing him right then and there.

“Hey,” Eddie says, standing up. “It’s really good to see you. You got tall.”

(i should probably shake his hand or something, richie thinks; that’s the way grown ups greet each other. hello mr. kaspbrak very good to see you how are your stocks doing what’s the gas mileage on your car what’s your bowling average)

“Yeah, they stretched me out really good when I moved out of Derry,” he says, his typical resting-face smile tugging on his mouth, his face feeling a little warm. “It’s ‘cause I got caught stealing a loaf of bread to save my sister’s kids from starvation. That’s the punishment for that.” Instead of a stuffy handshake, Richie reaches for Eddie and hugs him for just a second. (ok ok so he really is like Shorter than me) “Wow, Kaspbrak, is that your inhaler in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

Eddie rolls his eyes in good nature. “It’s my inhaler. Sit down, order a drink.”

He fumbles with the fancy leather-and-studs bar stool and manages to catch the bartender’s eye as he’s straightening out. He orders a hard cider. He’s usually a tequila-shots-all-around type of bitch, but right now, he figures he should pace himself so he doesn’t just blow this whole thing.

“Do you remember when we used to ride our bikes around?” He asks Eddie as the bartender turns to get his drink. “And make dams or go swimming out at the Barrens?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a familiar grin.

(god fucking dammit what the fuck that’s not fair it just isn’t why did we ever lose contact)

“But no one could ever go as fast as Bill,” Eddie adds.

“That’s right,” Richie remembers, nodding. “Silver. Ayyy-oh Silver, away!” 

“Ha. Yeah.”

Richie fishes around his mind for another memory to bring up. That’s what you do with old friends, right? Reminisce? But he can’t really think of anything concrete.

(his hands used to be so small oh my god the boy had teeny tiny little baby hands i wonder if they’re still small compared to mine)

“It’s weird,” Eddie says after a few beats of quiet. “I know we were really good friends, and I remember you now that I’m seeing you again, but most of it is so hazy. I guess it’s just ‘cause it’s been a long time.”

“Probably,” Richie agrees. “Or it was all those drugs you did in the 90s, am I right?”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah. Real heroin fiend, here.”

“For me it was ketamine. I spent all of ‘99 in a K hole deeper than shit.”

Eddie laughs more, his nose going a little pink, a chaotic glint starting to take shape in his dark eyes. 

(it’s just like it always was, it’s like no time has passed at all, god he grew up good)

(cannot believe we both turned out gay what the fuck)

(ok never mind yeah i can believe it i guess it totally makes sense now that i think about it)

(should i say something about that, should i acknowledge it, but then what would i even say, haha we both turned out homo isn’t that funny)

(also is this strictly just old friends reminiscing or can it be something else too AHHHHHHH)

“But I emerged,” Richie continues, not a beat of time missed, even with all that silent monologuing. “Now I’m a standup comedian. That’s why I’m in New York. I had a show last night.”

“How’d it go?” Eddie asks, his tone of voice suggesting he’s actually interested.

“Really good, I think,” Richie says with a grin. “I got a few new offers this morning so it must’ve gone okay at least. What about you? What have you been up to? What keeps you in New York? Are you part of some kind of medical research thing, where they do experiments on you ‘cause you’re the boy with every disease known to man?”

“Haha,” Eddie says dryly. “I actually just started my own business. It’s a limo company.”

“Like you own limos?”

“It’s a chauffeur service,” Eddie amends. “I had all these contacts since I used to drive limos for a different company, so I saw the opportunity to take it to the next step. I have about five people under me now, driving limos for A-listers around the city. It’s a pretty good gig.”

(eddie did always have a crazy good sense of direction, richie remembers; he could navigate anything like it was his own backyard)

“Good for you, man.” His drink comes, so he takes a big sip for courage. 

“You too. Sounds like you’ve made it. I guess you must’ve figured out how to actually do those voices.”

(i really must have been annoying as fuck to be around when we were kids, it’s a miracle any of those guys hung out with me at all, and it’s a double miracle that one of them wanted to hang out with me again right now)

Richie grins. “It just took some practice, I guess. I got there eventually.”

“Do you keep in touch with any of our old friends?” Eddie asks, leaning toward Richie--

(god dammit i can smell him and he smells like lavender soap what the fuck who in their right mind smells like lavender soap in real life that’s just not fair)

“No,” Richie admits, leaning in a little closer too. “I haven’t thought about any of them in years.”

“Me neither.” That familiar crease between Eddie’s dark brows forms-- except time has made it more pronounced. “I guess that’s only natural. To lose touch with your childhood friends as you get older.”

“Yeah. For sure. I mean, we were, what, twelve? Thirteen? We were friends in middle school, right?”

“And high school.”

(and high school………. i should be able to remember high school what the fuck why don’t i remember this)

“That’s right,” he agrees, taking another sip of his drink. “The Loser’s Club.”

Eddie laughs a little, nodding. “The Loser’s Club. Those were some really good times.”

“Fuck yeah, they were. D’you remember that rock fight we got into with… what’s his name, Henry Bowers?”

“Oh, God. That was so stupid. I don’t even remember what it was about. We probably just had to defend ourselves because he wanted to actually murder us or some shit. That guy was insane.”

Richie laughs for no real reason. Eddie does too, his face lit up brighter than any of the dim ambient bar lights.

The night goes on and the two of them continue to talk. Filling each other in on their lives, remembering the kids-on-bikes days of the late ‘80s, drinking and joking and laughing. By the time they’re saying goodbye in front of the restaurant, Richie is three drinks in and feeling bold.

“I’m going to be here for another few weeks,” he says, leaning down just a little so he can look at Eddie in the eyes. “I’d love to see you again.”

“Me too,” Eddie says almost shyly. “How ‘bout I give you my number? I feel ridiculous talking on tinder.”

“Sounds good to me,” Richie agrees, laughing again, for no reason at all. They swap numbers. They tell each other to get home safe. That they’ll talk soon.

But Richie is frozen. He watches Eddie take his first few (slow) steps away.

(i think stan the man uris was my best friend, i think he was the one i was always with, he was the one always telling me beep beep to shut me up when i was being annoying, but this guy meant something different to me when we were kids holy fuck i guess i)

It all comes back. Not the memories, but the way the memories felt. Something spikes in Richie’s chest.

“Eddie, wait,” he hears himself say.

Eddie turns around easily. His big brown eyes are wide and innocent, his eyebrows slightly raised in a silent question.

Richie takes a few steps and brings himself back to Eddie. Before he can stop himself, he takes Eddie’s face in his hands and kisses him.

(i should have done this so long ago, is all richie can think as he kisses eddie, as eddie’s hand rests gently on his forearm, as eddie’s dark stubble scratches his jaw, as eddie kisses him back. i have never been kissed like this, never felt fireworks all up and down my spine, happy fucking fourth of july i guess god bless america)

Not wanting to push his luck, Richie pulls away after a moment. Leaves the kiss quick.

Eddie looks a little dazed for just a split second. Then, he smiles bashfully. 

“I’ll… see you soon, Richie,” he says, his cheeks noticeably reddened. His hand lingers on Richie’s arm for just a second longer than necessary. “Thanks for the drinks. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Richie repeats, watching Eddie go.

(i’m toast, he can’t help but think when he eventually turns to head home himself; i’m fucking toast)


	3. 2013

_ nothing has changed me quite like you _   
_ no nothing nothing nothing_   
_ (nothing)_   
_ nothing is you_

3.

(drinks, bowling, dinner, movies in his living room, drinks, take out in my rental, pizza and movies)

Seven dates in one month. That’s almost two dates per week.

(and he still doesn’t hate me? what the fuck)

But that was months ago. That was November. Now it’s March. Richie runs through the dates in his head as he drives, as he shoves his clean-but-unfolded laundry into drawers, as he brushes his teeth, as he tries to fall asleep at night. Runs through details from the Seven Dates. The way date number three, Movies In His Living Room, had ended. (walk of shame never felt so good)

And also as he tries to fall asleep at night, he runs through all the things he’s learned about Eddie. That his mother has been dead for just over a year. That he had been seeing this woman named Myra for a while, but then one day he looked at her and realized she was his mother, so he broke it off. That he never actually had asthma according to the doctors, but he has asthma attacks, so he still uses the water vapor inhaler because it helps (richie doesn’t really understand this one, but hey, whatever). That he likes bowling but doesn’t do it much, that he likes sushi but not the ones with raw fish because he’s scared of salmonella, that he likes to annoyingly crunch on the ice cubes as he drinks ice water.

Richie doesn’t have the patience to count days or whatever to figure out how long it’s actually been since he had to leave New York, how long it’s been since he last saw Eddie Kaspbrak from Derry-- but he knows it’s been too much time. Even though they’ve been texting every single day, talking on the phone once or twice, sending Snapchats-- it’s been too long.

(how i went two decades without seeing this nerd is beyond me)

He thinks about it, glumly, cheek against his palm, coffee going cold. Not that he needs the coffee. If anything, he should probably avoid caffeine because it makes him a little too loud and a little too bouncy, to the point where he can’t think straight or sit still-- but he drinks coffee anyway. Maybe it’s just a guise to pretend he’s a normal grownup just like everyone else. He hears a not-actually-funny standup bit in his head.

(coffee, am i right! mmm, yes, coffee, because we are adults in here and coffee is for adults! don’t talk to me until i’ve eaten this coffee mug, am i right! i’m asleep until i’ve had my coffee! if i kill you before i’ve had my coffee they can’t even legally arrest me! i need my go go juice so i can bounce! float like a red balloon!)

His phone vibrates hard against his coffee table. He jumps a little bit. Mutes the TV so he can answer it.

“City morgue,” he answers impulsively, thinking he must’ve stolen that joke from some dumb kids’ movie or another.

“Hi, Rich,” his agent says, ignoring his bullshit, since she’s years-used to it. “This is kind of last minute, but it’s such a good opportunity. And I already practically begged the guys in charge to let you have a slot, so I’m hoping you’ll say yes.”

“Maybe tell me what it is, toots, and I’ll have an answer for ya,” he says in a spot-on transatlantic accent.

“It’s a comedy line-up on Fox. The idea is to do a couple of these specials, five comedians each for twenty minute slots, and then they’ll feel it out and have some hour-long specials to offer to the favorites. Someone dropped out last minute, so a slot opened up.”

“Hell yeah I’ll do it,” he says. 

(i could do an hour long filmed special if this goes well??????? are you kiddin me? we’ve made it boys we’ve really made it tell the president i’m too busy to come to dinner with him but to save me some oysters rockefeller and somebody park my ferrari scuff it up if you want i don’t care i’ll just by another)

“It’s in two days,” she admits.

“I’ll still fuckin’ do it, Annie. I’ll just clip some stuff from my current set. That’s a crazy good opportunity. You even know how long I’ve been trying to get my paws on a filmed special? Where do I gotta go?” He asks, shoving his glasses back into place.

“Philadelphia,” she answers. “I’m going to get you on a flight over tomorrow if I can.”

(philadelphia. richie doesn’t know exactly how far away from new york city that is-- but it can’t be more than three hours tops right? he feels a weird lightness in his chest, a giddiness that can only be described as something straight out of the 7th grade)

“Perfect,” he says. “Actually, tell ya what. Get me on a flight tonight, if you can. Get me on the next fuckin’ flight outta LAX.”

“Uh, okay,” she says, laughing a little. “I’ll get you there as soon as I can.”

“And-- when you’re booking the round trip, give me an extra couple days, yeah? I have a friend in that area I’d like to visit.”

(not a friend exactly no no definitely not a friend-- god calling him friend almost hurts in fact-- but if i spring the word boyfriend on her right now she’ll be all taken off guard and i’ll have to explain the whole fuckin thing to her and eddie might not like it also we’ve actually never had that talk now that i think about it shit is he even my boyfriend)

“Sure,” she says. “I’ll text you when I get it figured out.”

“Thanks, you’re a peach. See ya.” He hangs up, almost dropping his phone into his coffee cup in excitement. He runs a quick Google search.

(philadelphia is less than two hours southwest of NYC ok even if he only has a free afternoon we can see each other)

He opens his texting app. In spite of the fact that there’s literally an unanswered text from Eddie sitting in his inbox right this very second, he gets a dash of performance anxiety. Feels almost too shy to tell Eddie they can see each other soon.

(what if he doesn’t want to see me, what if he just gets bored and lonely so he just likes having someone to text, what if the Seven Dates thing was a fluke)

They’ve never really exchanged any serious words of intention or feeling toward each other, other than the odd ‘miss you’. Both of them have easily gotten over the whole thing about barely remembering each other, but they haven’t yet gotten over their past as friends-- the ins and outs of how you talk to your friends. The only separation between friends and lovers was when Richie was still in New York City-- the kissing, the casual way Richie rested his arm over Eddie’s shoulders as they watched a movie, the occasional hand holding, the whole sleeping together thing. And it isn’t like Richie knows how to date, anyway. 

(ok you bitch don’t get cold feet though if he doesn’t want to date you he’ll say something when you invite him to come stay in your damn hotel room with you because that’s a pretty clear message on your part)

Maybe for logic reasons, maybe to buy time, he decides to wait until Annie lets him know about the flights. So he dumps all his brain cells into work; looking through his ideas notebook to see if he can use any of it to make at least one new bit for the twenty-minute slot in Philly, sifting through his current set to see what the strongest parts are. When he gets bored of that in an hour or two, he goes to start packing.

He’s shaking out a wrinkly tee shirt, singing along to WHAM! (yeah, it reminds him of eddie, so fuckin what?) when his phone buzzes. He nearly trips over his charger cord to grab it.

Annie: I emailed you your flight info. You leave at 4pm and arrive at PHL at midnight.

He texts her back his thanks, and checks the time-- it’s nearly one in the afternoon. He needs to get a move on with the whole packing and getting to the airport business, since it’s probably going to take him around an hour to get to LAX with traffic.

(speaking of traffic-- eddie’s last text says ‘traffic is so bad today’, hahaha, does that mean this is meant to be?)

Ignoring the dumb quip his subconscious made, he types out a text.

Richie: Hey, what do you think you’ll be doing around midnight tonight?

Eddie: Um, sleeping, probably. Why?

Richie bites his lip for a second before responding.

Richie: Just found out I’m going to be in Philly.

He almost tosses his phone out the window, a dumb outburst of nervous energy. But Eddie replies quickly.

Eddie: You’re going to be in Philadelphia at midnight? 

Richie: Landing at midnight. Staying for a few days for a thing. I’d kill to buy you a cheese steak

Eddie: That can be arranged.

He grins. Before he can think of something else to text, though, Eddie texts him again:

Eddie: I’ll pick you up from the airport.

Richie: You don’t have to do that. I can get an Uber. You have to pick people up from the airport like every day.

Eddie: Yeah, but none of them are you.

He really does almost throw his phone out the window this time. He takes his glasses off; cleans them with the cleaning cloth he keeps on his nightstand; puts them back on; reads the text again just to make sure. A light but almost uneasy feeling swells in his chest. Floats its way up to his head. His smile is half-happy, half-nervous.

Richie: See you at midnight, then.


	4. 2014

_ give me one good movie kiss _   
_ and i'll be alright _

4.

It’s not like Richie is too too terribly messy of a person, but it’s also not like his house is all that, you know, clean. There isn’t dust or grime all over anything. There isn’t trash laying around. There are maybe a few towels in a pile on his closet floor. Maybe piles of paper he needs to go through.

(i could have all the time in the world and i would never have time to go through piles of paper)

He puts the pile in a drawer. A drawer he figures Eddie will have no reason to open. His junk drawer, full of extra batteries, stuff like screwdrivers and matches and old phone chargers and tape measures.

(why do i have a tape measure, who am i kidding, i’m not the kind of guy who needs to measure shit. where did i even get the instinct that led me to buying one? from my dad, wentworth the dentist? what am i gonna do, build a deck?)

It’s been a year. (it’s been a really good fucking year) Aside from that first fateful New York trip, and the second time when they met in Philly for a few days, Richie has gone to the East Coast to visit Eddie five times. Most of them were work trips-- one to Toronto, one to Boston, one to Rochester, one to NYC itself-- onto which he’d tacked an extra day or three to spend with Eddie. But the most recent one had just been because he had the damn airline miles and he missed the guy.

This time, though, Eddie is the one visiting him. Eddie had asked if he could come visit during Richie’s last trip, the one Richie had taken just for the sake of staying with Eddie. As if he thought there was some kind of favor to be returned. There wasn’t. Richie had just really wanted to see him. But he also wasn’t going to say anything that might suggest he didn’t want Eddit to visit, so he’d just said ‘yeah of course anytime’ and smiled.

He’d set aside two whole days for cleaning his house. Knowing damn well that he would get distracted half a dozen times an hour. That he’d have to be running after half-finished tasks the whole time. But now it’s not bad-- now everything is dusted, washed, swept, and organized. The one and a half bathrooms are shiny clean. The sheets are fresh out of the dryer. The couch has pillows on it, now, too, since he’d taken a panicked trip to Target after remembering that Eddie’s living room couch had pillows on it and he’d probably expect pillows.

He gives the place a final once over before heading out to his car and hopping in, ready to enter traffic to get to LAX plenty early to pick Eddie up. 

When he gets there, he finds the baggage claim that goes with Eddie’s flight, even though he has no idea if Eddie even checked a bag.

(why would you, for a five day trip, you can fit five days’ worth of clothes in a carry-on bag can’t you)

(but then again, this is eddie, he probably packed half his medicine cabinet Just In Case)

He watches the bags start to pour out. Watches black suitcases and shipping boxes and guitar cases and brightly-colored kids’ hardshells and oversized military duffels. Catches sight of a small canvas suitcase, navy blue, with a Kermit the Frog luggage tag.

(eddie always kind of looks like kermit the frog when he’s annoyed, richie can’t help but think, and just the thought makes him chuckle a little bit, but then he feels almost nervous that eddie really is in his home turf now, that eddie is going to stay at his house; usually when he’s visiting eddie in new york eddie suggests places to eat because he knows which ones are good, but like richie pretty much just eats at home or gets food from like denny’s or burger king or subway or some shit, and he’d be damned if he took his boyfriend to fucking denny’s)

(i bet that’s his bag, his mind tacks on)

He wanders toward it and catches up to it, turning the Kermit tag around to check. In neat, all-capitals; EDWARD KASPBRAK. Richie blinks, a little surprised, and he grabs the bag.

As he turns around, away from the baggage claim, he spots him. Eddie’s dark hair is neat, and he’s wearing a dark teal knit sweater since it’s cold in New York, a grey Jansport on his shoulders. 

(oh fuck there he is)

He watches Eddie see him. Watches him smile. He can’t see the faded freckles that dot Eddie’s nose from this distance, but he’s thinking about them anyway.

Stupidly, he holds a hand up to wave. Eddie waves back, clearly mocking him, and he can’t help but laugh. They both move toward each other seamlessly, and without thinking about it, without caring that they’re in public and people will see, he leans down to kiss Eddie.

“Hi to you too,” Eddie says, laughing a little, nudging Richie away after the world’s shortest kiss. “There are people watching, you slut.”

“They’ll just be jealous,” he says cheerfully, slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and kissing his cheek instead. “Did you have a good flight?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t bad. How did you know that was my suitcase?”

“Just looked at the tag,” Richie says casually.

“Did you look at the tag of every single bag?”

“Nah. I just saw the Kermit tag and I thought it might be yours and I was right.”

(something about a turtle, his subconscious suggests)

(no, kermit is a frog, what are you saying man we gotta have you committed, his conscious argues back)

(either way, his arm tightens just a little tiny bit around Eddie’s shoulders)

“You all ready to head out?” He asks.

“Yeah. Can we go eat someplace? I’m starving.”

“Sure. I know a lot of good places,” Richie agrees.

(ahhhhh no you don’t no you don’t, you don’t know a single Good Place, and don’t you fucking dare jokingly suggest denny’s it’s not funny)

“How about Denny’s?” Richie hears himself joke. “They have a really romantic table right under the NO SMOKING sign. It’s one of those vinyl booths but it isn’t even cracked like the other ones and the table is only a little bit sticky.”

“Denny’s? They spit in the food there, Rich. I saw a show about it on TV once. The employees are overworked and underpaid so they spit in the food. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to eat someone else’s spit.”

“Would you eat my spit?”

“That’s gross and you know it,” Eddie says as they make their way into the parking lot.

“My spit is in your mouth all the time.”

“Ew, I don’t want to think about that, okay, that doesn’t exactly make me want to kiss you,” Eddie complains.

“Ahh, you’ll get over it,” Richie says cheerfully. “Japanese sound good? There’s a place by my agent’s office.”

(i dunno if it’s good, dunno if it’s even still open, but it was there like two years ago and i remember because a letter off their sign was missing and it looked like it said ‘s iki gardens” instead of shiki gardens and i thought it was hilarious, hahahaha like icky gardens)

“That sounds perfect.”

“Hell yeah. I’ll take care of you good, boo.” Richie says in a weird east coast accent. He takes his arm off Eddie and unlocks his car. “Ay-uh. I’ll find the best sushi in the land. Only the best for my old man.”

“God, shut up,” Eddie says as he gets into the passenger seat of Richie’s car-- but he’s laughing. 

They make the drive to the restaurant, laughing about the lady across the aisle from Eddie’s seat on the plane who, halfway through the flight, took her shoes and socks off and started painting her toenails. When they get to the part of town with Annie’s office and the restaurant, he’s too concerned looking for parking to actually notice--

“It’s closed,” Eddie points out.

“It is?” He squints toward the restaurant, nudging his glasses into place. “I gotta wipe these off, man, they’re smudgy as fuck.”

“You’ve been driving in L.A. traffic with smudged-up glasses the whole time?” Eddie demands. “That’s a safety hazard.”

“Hey, I do it all the time, I can see big stuff like cars through the smudges, don’t worry.” He drives past the restaurant, giving up on the search for the parking spot. 

“Looks like it’s been closed a while,” Eddie comments. “When’s the last time you went there?”

“A while ago. I don’t know,” Richie lies. “Hey, tell ya what. We can go back to my place and I’ll make something.”

“You can cook.” It isn’t so much a question, nor a jab-- more like Eddie is trying the words out for size, seeing if they fit right. He shakes his head a second later, apparently deciding they don’t fit at all. “Are you going to microwave me a poptart?”

“Just ‘cause I microwave poptarts instead of eating them cold doesn’t mean I don’t understand food,” Richie argues. He gets back on the highway to head home.

“Normal people don’t eat poptarts cold, dumbass, you’re supposed to put them in the toaster.”

“I don’t want the frosting to melt!”

“The frosting isn’t going to melt, Richie, they’re designed to be put in the toaster!” Eddie gestures vaguely. “If you microwave it, the texture is all wrong.”

“At least I don’t drink oat milk. Who drinks oat milk? You couldn’t even go for almond milk? Almond milk is too much for your delicate sensibilities?” Richie jabs back, riling himself all up for no reason at all.

“Simmer down,” Eddie says. “I don’t drink oat milk. I just use it on my cereal. I don’t drink cow milk because cow milk tastes bad and I’m not a baby cow.”

“If you were a baby cow you’d be the cutest baby cow ever.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Eddie asks, shaking his head again.

Richie laughs a little. Switches the radio station, since they’re blasting one of those repetitive songs that makes him want to bang his head against a wall. When the new station picks up, he grins wider, putting on a stupid-thick country accent and miming like he’s about to lasso a cow, leaving his other hand on the wheel. “Oh, yeah, darlin’, this is darn tootin’! You got the horses in the back--”

Eddie about dies laughing, ducking his head toward the glove compartment, clutching at his chest. 

“Gonna take my horse to the hotel room, gonna RIIIIIIIIIIIDE ‘TIL I CAN’T NO MORE,” Richie sings along loudly.

“Those are not the lyrics,” Eddie just about yells.

“Yes they are,” Richie laughs. 

(fuck though what am i even gonna cook for him, he’s picky, he likes actually good food, i can’t even tell the difference between what’s good food and what’s mediocre food, he probably won’t be impressed with the fact that i have domino’s on speed dial, i wonder if he even likes hawaiian pizza ugh he probably likes some dumb shit like olive and pepper pizza or just fuckin plain cheese ugh i really did fall in love with a normie didn’t i)

(oh wait i know what to cook for him)

He straightens his shoulders a little as he drives the last few miles to his house. He parks in his garage a moment later, getting out and heading to the trunk to get Eddie’s suitcase (like a real gentleman, thank you very much, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the spring cotillion?) before going inside.

“This is a great house,” Eddie comments as they make their way in from the garage door. “Lots of natural light.”

“Lotta natural light on this one, folks,” Richie says stiffly. “But unfortunately this house is a nice shiny four hour commute from your architect job in the city. What do you say. Will you love it or will you list it?”

“I’ll love it,” Eddie says very seriously. “The architect job in the city can kiss my ass.”

“It’s small,” Richie says, moving along easily from the improvised realtor bit, like he moves along easily from all his voices. “But the view is good. So downstairs is the living room and the kitchen, and this weird little tiny room through there that I don’t know what the fuck to do with. And up here--” he starts up the stairs, pushing the handle down on Eddie’s suitcase and picking it up so it won’t go thunk-thunk-thunk against the steps-- “is the office, bathroom, and bedroom.”

“You have an office? What do you even do in there?” Eddie laughs.

“I go in every so often and pretend to be very very important,” he insists. “Nah. I usually just sit on the couch with my laptop. But the real estate lady told me it would make a good office, so I put a desk in there and called it good. Anyway. Here’s where the magic happens.” He opens the bedroom door, making an ‘after you’ gesture.

“What magic? You mean here’s where you flop around like a fish and talk in your sleep?” Eddie asks, smirking a little as he glances around the room. It’s not amazingly decorated, but it looks like Richie.

“No, dude, this is where I practice my magic tricks,” he says, injecting as much hurt into his voice as he can find. “You know I do magic tricks. God, it’s like you don’t even care about my magic tricks.”

“What, like you put sneeze powder on people and then laugh when they sneeze?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms over his chest as Richie puts his suitcase on the chair he has never once sat in.

“If you’re going to dunk on my magic tricks, you can go back to New York,” Richie whines.

“Your magic tricks are shit, Tozier,” Eddie says, digging his inhaler out of his backpack and sliding it into his pocket instead. “There. I said it.”

“You’re kind of hot when you’re mean. Say it again.”

“I said, your magic tricks are shit,” Eddie repeats, barely quirking one of his dark eyebrows.

“Now you’ve really unzipped me.” He grabs Eddie like they’re in a silent film, dips him dramatically, and kisses him for real this time. A slow kiss-- the kind he really finds himself missing when they’re apart. Eddie takes his time with it too.

(the sleeping together and hanging out and joking around and all that is great, really great don’t get me wrong, but holy shit the dude can _kiss_)

“I’ll unzip you,” Eddie agrees, panting a little as he pulls his face away from Richie’s; “in due time. Can we fucking eat?”

“Yes,” Richie says, smiling, laughing a little bit. He un-dips Eddie and takes his hand to lead him back to the kitchen. “I’ll make you my specialty. I’m world famous for it, you know.”

“Can’t wait.”

Once they’re in the kitchen, he fights with a corkscrew for a good long while before managing to pry the cork out of a bottle of Two Long Words He Didn’t Have The Patience To Read red wine he’d taken a bet on in Trader Joe’s.

“Have you just… never done that before, once in your life?” Eddie teases as Richie struggles to get the cork off the corkscrew. 

“Plenty of times. Don’t I look like a red wine guy?”

(you’re not a red wine guy, if anything you’re a shots guy, sometimes a beer or cider guy, but if eddie’s a red wine guy you can pretend for a day or five days or your whole life, you can happily pretend)

He pours two glasses (yeah, he went out and bought stemless wine glasses just for this occasion, just to pretend he had them all along, so what?) and hands one to Eddie.

“Cheers,” Eddie says as he accepts the glass. Richie clinks his against it, figuring That’s What Adults Do, and he takes a sip.

(okay so it’s kind of bad it’s not great but you hated every other alcohol the first time you tried it too so maybe it’ll grow on you)

“This is good. What is it, a Syrah?”

“Uh, it’s… cabaret… soapdish,” Richie bullshits. “Got a real nice soapy finish on her, doesn’t she?”

“The soapiest.”

“Glad the gentleman is pleased. Now sit down,” Richie instructs, gesturing to his kitchen table, which he’d cleared all the papers off and wiped down just for this very purpose.

“I can help,” Eddie offers, but he sits down.

“No guest of mine is helping in the kitchen. How do you think my mother raised me?” He asks, as if he’s ever had guests before.

“Right, right, of course, how could I be so silly.”

“Your only jobs are to drink your wine and look cute.” Richie takes his glasses off to actually get the smudges off, wiping them on the hem of his flannel shirt. “You’re in California now, which means you have to gain an appreciation for the California food pyramid.” Glasses replaced on his face, he goes for the fridge.

“Which is?”

“Kale. Avocadoes. And lemons.” He slams the aforementioned items down on the counter. “Pre-washed ‘cause I buy my shit at Trader Joe’s.” He takes a salad bowl out of the cabinet, flipping it around in his hands a few times before plopping it down on the counter. Easily, he assembles a salad of kale, rocket, diced avocado, and what the hell some edamame since it’s there. Then he tosses on some salt, pepper, slivered almonds since they’re out, olive oil, and juice from the lemon.

“Are you making this up as you go?” Eddie asks, but it sounds more like an observation than a question.

“Is there a different way to cook?” 

“Yes.”

“News to me.” He puts the salad bowl on the table with those bamboo hand salad grabber things (they look like fuckin possom hands, they’re so funny) and gets two plates and some silverware out. Then, he goes back to the fridge for cheese slices.

“Don’t do it, oh my god, if you rip up a slice of American cheese and put it on that salad I’m leaving,” Eddie says, covering his face with his hands.

“Then get the fuck out of here,” Richie shoots back. “It’s chedder cheese, you dumb bitch, I thought I was the blind one.” He grabs the bread. “I make the most perfect grilled cheeses known to man.”

“Alright, Rich,” Eddie says, laughing a tiny bit as he sips his wine.

(ooooohh he doesn’t even know what he’s in for)

Richie plops a frying pan onto the stove and turns the knob on. The buttered bread makes a sexy sizzle sound when it hits the hot pan, and he realizes how hungry he actually is.

Soon he has two perfectly golden grilled cheese sandwiches waiting on two plates. “I’m telling you, Eds, it’s the best grilled cheese you will ever eat.”

“You don’t even know how to cook.”

“I don’t know how to cook,” Richie allows, “but there’s something about grilled cheeses that I just get.”

“They’re easy to make. Kids make grilled cheeses,” Eddie says, shaking his head, really going for it with the teasing. “I’m just impressed you didn’t use American.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Richie insists. “Try it.”

Shrugging, Eddie takes a bite. Chews slowly. Swallows. Wipes his mouth primly with his napkin.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I get it. That’s really fucking good.” He takes a second (bigger) bite.

(i can tell he isn’t just saying it because he wouldn’t just say it, he’d laugh at me for overselling my cooking abilities, he really thinks it’s actually good, i know the perfect timings and the perfect cheese ratio and i bet he wasn’t expecting the sprinkle of parmesan but it really makes a difference)

“Yeah,” Eddie says again once he’s swallowed the second bite. “Fine. That’s the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had. How did you even do that?”

“I don’t know, man, practice? I don’t really think about it.” Richie takes a bite of his sandwich; yeah, it’s fuckin’ good, it’s the best grilled cheese known to man, it really is.

“I’ve never… holy shit, this is like, beyond a grilled cheese. What kind of bread even is this?”

“Just some bread I found,” Richie says with a shrug. “It was in the Dumpster outside a homeless shelter for troubled youths. You know, someone like, threw away the whole loaf! Well, okay, it was half a loaf, but it was perfectly good! Other than this weird green fuzz that was on one side, but don’t worry, I scraped it off--”

Eddie cuts him off, shoving a piece of kale into his mouth. Laughing, Richie almost chokes on the leaf.


	5. 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: BAD standup comedy writing!!!!!!!!!!!!!

_i've loved you three summers now, honey_  
_but i want them all _  
_can i go where you go?_  
_can we always be this close?_

5.

(i want to talk, richie sees over and over again in his mind as if he’s re-reading eddie’s text; i want to talk, can you call me when you get a minute?)

Not like he has any particular reason to think Eddie has anything scary to talk about. He’d visited Eddie in New York just last month, and it was a perfectly happy three and a half days-- his heart aches for the fact that it’s never enough, sure, but it was still a perfectly happy few days. They’d argued about some dumb small political thing (they agreed on all the big things), sure, but by the time they got off the subway and walked the two blocks to the restaurant, the argument was forgotten in favor of making fun of each other. 

(that’s the only thing i can even think of)

With a small twist of upset, his mind adds;

(we never get to spend enough time together to actually get sick of each other)

(god, i would kill to be able to get sick of eddie, i really would)

He’d texted Eddie back. Said that, sure, he’d call when he could. Gone on with his day.

(of course he texts me that on a day i’m busy)

Meeting with the agent, audition for a small time part in a small time movie he wasn’t even terribly interested in, interview for a podcast. He doesn’t make it home until nearly seven, thanks to Los Angeles traffic. He has to feel around for the lights when he finally makes it inside the house, using his phone flashlight once he realizes he’s never going to find the switch in the dark.

He shoots off a quick text just to make sure.

Richie: Hey, just got home, sorry it’s so late in NYC. I can talk now, if you’re ready?

Eddie doesn’t text back. He just calls.

Richie exhales. (it’s fine, there’s no reason to think anything is wrong, you’re okay)

“Hey,” he answers, already starting to pace around his kitchen.

“Hi,” Eddie says. “Busy day?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I had a lot of shit going on. But I’m home now.” He idly scratches his jaw. “Hey, uh, the suspense is kinda killing me, Eds, what did you want to talk about?”

“So I had an idea,” Eddie begins slowly, thinking through his words carefully. “My business is going really well in the city. I recently hired a couple new drivers and promoted the guy who was with me since day one. He’s going to do some coordination stuff now.”

“Nice,” Richie says. (he wouldn’t say he Wanted To Talk just to tell me how his business is going, he’d text me or wait until he was bored or lonely some night and ask to call, he wouldn’t make a big deal of it if it was just that--)

“So I was thinking of expanding,” Eddie adds, almost uneasily.

“Expanding your company? What do you mean?”

“Expanding, like… opening a branch in Los Angeles. I mean, those are the two cities celebrities are in the most, right? New York and L.A. I have regular clients who are in Los Angeles all the time, and they need limo service there too.”

His shoulders relax a little as he listens to Eddie. His nervous grin turns into a happy grin. “That’s a great idea, Eds. I think you should do it.” (we could see each other more)

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. You already have a huge base of people who will hire you guys here. And it sounds like the NYC branch is doing good enough for you to take a step back.” (and we could see each other more)

(don’t make his thing about yourself rich but………………. we could see each other more!)

“Right,” Eddie says, almost sounding relieved. “Yeah! And we could… I mean, I’d be around L.A. a lot more.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I was actually thinking… maybe I should just go for it and move to L.A.”

His heart just about falls out of his chest. He almost trips over a discarded shoe. “That would be cool,” he says, trying not to sound over-eager. “That would… that’d be awesome. You should go for it. If you want to, I mean.”

“I do want to,” Eddie says. “So this brings me to… the thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

(that wasn’t…………………………………. the thing he wanted to talk to me about???????????)

“Yeah?” 

“What do you think about, like… us living together?” Eddie asks.

“Living together? Like, _together_ together?” Richie repeats stupidly. “You want to live with me?”

“Yeah, but I mean, it’s okay if you’re not ready or you don’t want to. I can get my own place,” Eddie says. “But I kind of think it’s time. Maybe. I mean, we’ve been together for almost three years now. And we hardly get to see each other with this whole east coast/west coast thing.”

“You’re right,” Richie says, fidgeting as he paces, almost dropping his phone. “I’m in. I’m all in. Let’s do it.”

“Great,” Eddie says, a softness in his voice that Richie just hates. 

(hates only because he isn’t there to take eddie in his arms and kiss him hard, hates only because he has to hear it over the phone and not in real life, hates only because he doesn’t get to watch the softness of it shine off eddie’s beautiful brown eyes as he speaks)

(but oh my god i can soon… this whole thing will be over and i won’t have to miss him anymore and i)

(i...)

“Great,” Richie repeats, his spine almost numb. “I… great.”

“You’re so eloquent this evening,” Eddie says, laughing a little.

“I’m just surprised, ha.”

“Good surprised?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Richie confirms, taking his chunky glasses off to fidget with them. “Really good surprised.”

+

Two weeks later, there’s a pile of pre-shipped boxes, two large suitcases, and one small suitcase (the navy one with the Kermit tag) piled up in the tiny room Richie never knew what to do with. And a new key on Eddie’s key ring. And a dinner mess in the kitchen because they’d gotten too distracted with each other to bother cleaning it up.

“Are you sure about this?” Richie hears himself ask, tracing his thumb over the small, sparse patch of hair in the middle of Eddie’s chest.

“Sure about what? Sure about fucking you? It’s kinda too late for me to change my mind on that one, man. The deed is done.”

“No. Sure about moving, dumbass.”

“Yeah, of course I am. I’ve always meant to get off the east coast. It’s so damn cold over there,” Eddie says. Through the open window, the moonlight glints off his big dark eyes. A thought crosses Richie’s mind. Something that’s crossed his mind so many times, it almost just lives there.

(he’s so beautiful)

He reaches for Eddie’s face. Touches his cheekbone. Traces his jaw. Resists the urge to yank on his ear and ruin the moment with silliness. 

“And you’re sure about wanting to live with me?” He asks.

“I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. Not even close,” Eddie says easily. “I’m sure. Hey, what time is it? Is SNL on yet? It’s on early here, right?”

Blindsided, Richie can’t even answer the question. He takes his glasses off and considers throwing them across the room for absolutely no reason at all.

(he fuckin loves me)

(he’s never loved anyone the way he loves me not even close oh my god what the fuck oh shit)

“Rich?”

“I love you too,” he says all at once.

“I know,” Eddie says. “So do you want to go downstairs and watch SNL?”

“Hold on for a sec, goddamn,” Richie says, rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t just go watch SNL after that.”

“After what?”

“After what you just said!”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, laughing a little. “What, are you surprised? I’ve told you I love you before. You know I love you. Aren’t you used to it yet?”

“Not like that,” Richie half-whines. “You can’t just say that to me and expect me to--! Goddamn, babe.”

“I’ll give you thirty seconds to get over it,” Eddie says, sitting up in bed, stretching. He reaches to the floor for his boxer briefs. “While you’re getting over it, I’m going to borrow a pair of PJ pants, because I don’t feel like digging through my suitcase right now.”

+

The two of them fit in with each other easily. Eddie gives the unused desk in the office a purpose. He goes through the pile of Boring Grownup Papers Richie had stashed in the junk drawer and he files them in actual filing cabinets. He cooks things in the oven that aren’t frozen french fries. Within days, he has essentially filled every gap that had been in Richie’s life-- even gaps he hadn’t even known he’d had. And best of all-- Eddie doesn’t even seem to mind the way Richie babbles all the time. Doesn’t mind the voices. Doesn’t mind the way Richie cracks himself up in every conversation. He even seems to like these things.

(back when we were kids, richie barely remembers, as if it’s under a thick film of condensation-- back when we were kids, there was this one time he was……...…. helping someone with…………. something…… someone was hurt and he was cleaning the wound or something. and he told me to stop doing the british guy. that was the only main time he got annoyed with me for the voices. and he had two fanny packs with him that day)

(god what a nerd)

He smiles a little at the memory, even though it’s so vague he can barely even grasp it by its corner. 

(oh well. probably no one really remembers their childhood that well. i did used to like smoke a shit ton of weed, maybe i killed too many of my brain cells)

“One day you’re twenty and you’re stoned as a guitar player in the ‘70s, and you’re eating an entire bag of Doritos in one sitting while watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and you’re like, this is good, this is fine, there’s nothing wrong with this, weed isn’t even dangerous,” he mutters to himself, trying the improvised bit out; “but then all of a sudden you’re thirty-seven and you realize you don’t remember being twelve and you’re like…” he shakes his head, deciding it isn’t actually funny.

(anything where you have to say ‘you’re like’ isn’t funny, rich)

(maybe the weed thing is good though, people like hearing about other people doing drugs and weed isn’t even illegal anymore in california so it won’t be controversial) 

He cocks his head to the left, twirling an orange-inked pen between his fingers, his idea notebook open on his knee. 

“I used to smoke a lot of weed in my twenties,” he tries again. “Because I had no friends and I was afraid of girls and my job at Blockbuster was sucking the life out of me. And that’s what you do when you have no one to hang out with and your job at Blockbuster is sucking the life out of you-- you get blasted every single day.” He straightens the pen in his hand and jots down ‘Blockbuster’.

He hears the door open just then, and he almost jumps a little, but then he remembers that Eddie lives here too now. So he hops up, leaving his pen and notebook on the couch, and wanders over to greet him.

“Hey. You get that garage guy to come down?” He asks, putting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder as he leans down to kiss him.

“No,” Eddie admits. “I chickened out. Couldn’t argue with him. He was like seventy-five feet tall. But it’s okay, because I have a lead on another place that has more space for less-- it’s just a little more out of the way. I’m gonna go meet with them tomorrow.” He takes his jacket off. “What are you up to?”

“Just trying to be funny.”

“New jokes?” Eddie asks.

“I hope so,” Richie says with a slightly uncomfortable grin. He isn’t used to people asking about how his writing is going while he’s in the middle of it.

“Lay ‘em on me,” Eddie suggests.

“You want to hear them?” Richie double checks, nudging his glasses into place.

“Of course. I feel like I’ve never seen you in action,” Eddie says, smiling. He tosses his keys into the designated Key Dish.

“Uh, okay. Sit down. I’ll be right back. I have to look at what I just wrote down,” Richie says, almost shyly, as he turns to grab his notebook.

(he’s not going to think it’s funny. it probably isn’t even funny, fuck, i don’t even know what i’m going to say)

He picks the notebook up off the couch and frowns at it. Yeah. Great. The page just says ‘Blockbuster’ and ‘weed’.

(whatever, i’ll just figure something out)

He wanders back into the kitchen and makes eye contact with the slight crease between Eddie’s eyebrows. “I used to work at Blockbuster,” he begins. “I worked there for about five years in my twenties. And I would come to work high every single day. But it was fine, because when you go to Blockbuster, everyone there is already high, other than like the little kids or whatever who are asking about renting Home Alone 2 for the fourth time in one month.”

At this, for some reason, Eddie laughs. A real laugh. Richie kind of laughs too, his cheeks starting to heat up a little-- (not sure i’ve ever done a solo standup show for anyone, let alone someone whose opinion actually matters to me this much)

But he continues. “I did pretty good at Blockbuster, especially if you consider I was blasted on weed every single day. I would go into this crazy hyperfocus mode and I would just sort the shit out of the returned video box. I would set new records for speed. They never checked for accuracy, though, so who knows about that. And I never got busted for being stoned at work, either. Maybe because my boss was also stoned out of his mind, maybe because I was just that good, you be the judge. But then eventually I was like twenty-six and I thought, hey, I smoke a lot of weed-- maybe if I stopped smoking so much weed I could actually go somewhere in life-- I mean, go somewhere other than the candy aisle at 7-Eleven, Blockbuster, or my dealer’s house.”

Again, Eddie laughs. “That’s great.”

“So I stopped smoking so much weed. I still smoked a little bit of weed for a while, but I toned it down a lot. And then, blah blah blah, I managed to get my paws on a successful comedy career, boring, boring, and I started being in a normal adult relationship with a normal adult person. But here’s the thing about when you smoke a shit ton of weed for a long time and then you stop. You look back at the sheer amount of weed you used to smoke, and how little it affected you by the end of it, and you get a little cocky. You think, hey, I’m a responsible adult now. I could smoke a little weed and just watch a movie and order a pizza and handle myself. I could do it. I can handle it.” He pauses. “No.”

Laughter. (this isn’t even that funny! richie can’t help but think; none of this is very funny at all!!!)

“About two years ago, I got high for the first time in probably five years. I had this plan-- I was going to smoke a joint, order Domino’s, and watch one of those true crime shows on ID with the bad re-enactments and the sexy fucking sound effects. But there was a key element missing in this plan. I forgot the sheer level of focus the devil’s lettuce gives me. And I ended up trying to get about five days’ of work done in about twenty minutes. I was answering every single email in my inbox. I was flying through it, and then I realized-- I’m not capitalizing a single letter. There’s absolutely no punctuation happening. And I keep making typos. Like, I’ve never made this many typos in my life. So I look down at my keyboard. And I see that I’m typing with my fucking pinkies.” He holds his pinkies out to demonstrate, trying to arrange his face to mimic being high. Eddie just about loses it.

“Is that real?”

“Typing with my pinkies? Yeah,” Richie admits, laughing a little too. 

“Oh my god, that’s so funny.” Eddie is practically wheezing. He shoves his hand into his pocket and gets his inhaler for a quick puff. “That’s hilarious. Did you just write that today?”

“Uh-- I just made it up as I was going along.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Usually, yeah I’m kidding you, but nope. I just kind of improvised. You actually liked it?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, delicately wiping the laughter tears off his face. “I like that you called the ID sound effects sexy.”

“They are sexy. They’re like, CHUN CHUN.”

Eddie cracks up again, his nose pink. Delighted, Richie laughs too, making a mental note to write this improvised bit down when he gets a minute.

“Are you hungry?” Richie asks once Eddie gets a hold of himself.

“Famished,” Eddie says, wiping laughter tears away again. 

“Me too. What sounds good?”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve been fantasizing about a Richie Tozier grilled cheese all day,” Eddie says almost bashfully. 

(god i love him so much it’s almost painful)

“Coming right up,” Richie says, grinning.


	6. 2016 pt. 1

_where we're from _  
_there's no sun _  
_our hometown's in the dark _

6.

It’s a perfectly lovely evening. It’s the low hum of dinner dishes in the dishwasher, it’s the comfortable racket of rain against the windows, it’s occasional chuckles at the sitcom they’re watching on tv. The thin but sturdy feeling of Eddie’s shoulders under Richie’s arm. The buzz of a few glasses of red wine coursing through two sets of veins-- yeah, Richie likes red wine now, so fuckin’ what?

The warmth, the ease, the gentle happiness of _home_. That’s what all these things are.

The sitcom episode cuts to its B plot. Richie leans in for a kiss, which Eddie happily supplies, resting his hand on Richie’s chest. 

“You should be in these shows,” Eddie comments a moment later. “You’re way funnier than any of these people.”

“You just think that ‘cause you’re obsessed with me. You freak.”

“I am not _obsessed _with you.”

“Aww, babe, you aren’t even obsessed with me?” Richie pouts.

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, nudging on him with one hand, but leaning up to kiss him again. 

(how much time does this episode have left? he always hates it when i want to pause things or stop watching before it’s over but if he’s going to _kiss_ me like that i might have to try to make him an offer)

Not that the two of them ever really have bad nights, but this is just an especially Good Night. And everything is better on a Good Night. 

(so we should probably wrap this whole tv watching thing up and head upstairs soon)

A third kiss. They’re barely watching the show now. Eddie’s color is high from the wine and the warmth that swirls around them whenever they’re together. Richie takes his glasses off and sets them down on the coffee table so he can kiss Eddie closer.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. For a moment, he doesn’t move to get it-- doesn’t bother pulling away. But then it keeps going. And Eddie pulls away.

“It might be important,” he says, a touch of resentment edging his words.

Richie sighs and puts his glasses back on. He reaches into his back pocket for the phone.

“It’s not you or Annie calling, it can’t be that important,” he says. 

“Who is it?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know the number. It’s a 207 area code.”

(_it’s a 207 area code._)

“It’s someone calling from Maine,” Richie realizes out loud.

“Answer it,” Eddie suggests.

It’s already been buzzing for a long time. In a second it’ll go to voicemail. He answers it.

“Hello.”

“Richie?” Returns an almost-familiar voice.

He blinks. (i hate it when people call me richie other than like eddie and my family-- eddie is my family-- it’s like someone taking a sip from your drink without asking, unless you knew me when i was a kid don’t call me)

(unless you--)

(when i was a kid)

(wait)

“Yeah,” he says slowly, halfway realizing who the voice belongs to. “Uh, who’s this?”

“It’s Mike Hanlon from Derry, Rich.”

He grins a little, remembering, and sits up straighter, inching away from Eddie so he has a little room to think. “Mike Hanlon,” he repeats. “Wow. Haven’t heard that name in a long time. How are you, man?”

“Mike Hanlon?” Eddie repeats, an expression crossing his face that Richie has never seen before.

“I’m doing okay. What about yourself?”

He glances toward Eddie for a second. “I’m doing real good.”

“Mike Hanlon from when we were kids?” Eddie persists.

“Hold on, Eds,” Richie says, never one to be able to handle multi-tasking.

“Wait, did you say Eds?” Mike asks. “Are you with Eddie Kaspbrak?”

“Yeah, we live together,” Richie says before remembering that Mike doesn’t know this detail about him, that he doesn’t know how Mike might take it--

“You kept in touch?” Mike asks. “Are you roommates?”

“Uh-- you could say that.”

“Are you dating?” Mike asks, tone a little more knowing.

“You could… also say that and it would be more accurate,” Richie says, again glancing at Eddie, who has paused the show and is staring at him.

“Good for you,” Mike says easily.

“Yeah. Ha. Uh, you wanna say hi to him? I think he wants to say hi to you. I’ll put it on speaker.”

“Sure. It would save me making another phone call.”

(it would save you making another phone call? richie puzzles as he fumbles with the phone)

“Hey, Mike,” Eddie says once they’re on speaker. “Nice to hear from you. It’s been forever.”

“It has,” Mike agrees from the other side of the country. “Uh-- listen, how much do you guys remember about the summer of ‘89?”

Eddie and Richie glance at each other, both their faces saying the same thing-- _I hope you remember ‘cause I sure don’t_.

“Not much,” Eddie admits. 

“No, sir, summah of ‘89 don’t ring no bell, I’m afraid,” Richie says, putting on a Southern belle type voice out of anxiety--

(because that was the summer eddie broke his arm and that was the summer we found the shoe in the standpipe and that was the summer)

A chill goes through him. He no longer feels like he’s enjoying a peaceful night at home with his boyfriend. He shudders a tiny bit.

“Something’s happened,” Mike says. His tone is sturdy, concerned, knowing-- beyond that, unreadable. “Something’s happened, and I need your help. Do you remember the promise we all made?”

“No,” Eddie says uneasily. He reaches for his inhaler, which had been sitting irrelevantly on the coffee table for days, and he starts toying with it. 

“Mike, what the fuck are you talking about, man?” Richie asks, trying very hard to sound like someone who _isn’t_ starting to feel sick. Without thinking about it, he reaches his arm back around Eddie’s shoulders. Draws him in close.

“I think it’s best I don’t tell you too much right now,” Mike says. 

(god what am i a seven year old kid who walked in on mom and dad talking about something bad that happened to a distant relative)

“I remember-- we did a blood oath,” Eddie says in a small voice. He shifts closer to Richie. Puts his inhaler in his mouth and pushes the pump. “But I don’t remember what it was about.”

“It was that we’d all come back if we needed to,” Mike says.

(oh, fuck me running)

“That’s right,” Richie hears himself say. 

“So… you’ll come?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, voice sounding a little bigger after the puff from his inhaler. “We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

“Great,” Mike says, relief clear in his voice. “Glad to hear it. See you two soon.”

“See you soon,” Richie says weakly. He hangs up and puts the phone down on the couch cushion next to him.

(at least i can see stan…………… god i miss that guy he was so funny when he wasn’t acting like a middle aged accountant……… and bill and bev and ben and mike, goddamn i had some really good friends when i was a kid i don’t get how i could have forgotten them)

Richie shakes his head a little, arm still tight around Eddie. 

_(“you k-killed my brother, fuh-fuh-fucker!”)_

He starts. “The house on Neibolt street,” he says, so the memory won’t slip away. “Do you remember it?”

“Oh, god,” Eddie groans. “The fucking… yeah, I remember it now that you mention it.”

(i only remember just enough to know i don’t want to remember anything more, richie thinks grimly)

He stands up. Rubs at his eyes under his glasses. “Guess we better get packed.”

“We need to get plane tickets,” Eddie says, as if he’s one of those robotic toys that has one line it says if you press on its foot.

Richie nods. Grabs for his phone with a shaky hand. “It’s eight. There’s a red-eye to Boston that leaves at midnight, usually. I’ll… see if I can get us on it. We can rent a car and drive home from there. It shouldn’t be more than two hours.”

(home, is what he said, he’d said _home_\-- no, derry isn’t home anymore, derry hasn’t been home since ‘91, _this_ is home now, this house in this city in this state on this coast with _this person_)

He hopes to God there won’t be any seats available, but by the time the page loads, he sees that there are five seats open on the plane. He buys two of them before he can talk himself out of it.

“Got ‘em,” he says. “We need to hurry.”

They go upstairs wordlessly. Each go about stuffing clothes into a bag. (how long are we even going to be there? fuck i don’t wanna go, let’s just say like five days i guess it shouldn’t be more than that)

He remembers he has like, a job, and all. He quickly texts Annie, telling her something came up and he has to go to Maine for a few days and she should rearrange whatever he has coming up and cancel what she can’t rearrange. His phone buzzes with her call a moment later, but he puts it to silent and puts it in his pocket. 

Eddie wanders into the bathroom. Richie hears the light flick on. Hears the medicine cabinet open. 

(george denbrough, he remembers. george denbrough and betty ripsom and patrick hockstetter and others so many others)

(the house on neibolt street, he thinks grimly to himself. me and big bill and three doors. me alone in a big room full of)

(full of fucking--)

Bitterness edges toward his chest. Up into his throat. He stumbles into the bathroom and pushes past Eddie and sinks to the floor just in time to puke into the toilet, coughing and gagging like a frat kid after losing his first ever game of king’s cup.

“Rich--”

He finishes. Gropes for the flusher, wipes his mouth on his hand, and closes the lid. Overcome with something terrible that pours over him like the flood of ‘88, he yanks his glasses off, leans his forehead against the cold white porcelain of the toilet lid, and tries not to sob. 

A hand on his back. “Rich, honey, it’s going to be okay,” Eddie’s voice comes. 

“Do you remember? Do you remember what the fuck happened in the summer of ‘89?” He asks, crying bad, trying to shove his face into the toilet lid enough that he’ll maybe even just disappear.

“No,” Eddie says. “Not really. Just a little bit. But I remember that I swore to come back, and you did too, so that’s what we’re going to do. And we’ll get to see everyone-- Bev and Stan and Mike and Bill and Haystack, they’re all going to be there, doing… whatever it is we have to do… with us. It’ll be okay.”

(mike hadn’t said that the others would be there too, but both eddie and richie knew by some force they couldn’t define and didn’t care to)

His shoulders shake. He doesn’t feel like himself. He doesn’t feel like he’s there.

“Wash up and brush your teeth and let’s get to the airport,” Eddie says gently.

(eddie’s never seen me cry before, never seen me puke before, wow what a great way to break past both of those milestones in one go)

(i guess he has seen me cry when we were kids… i guess that summer we all probably did a lot of crying)

Hesitantly, Richie straightens up. Eddie’s gone. Without his glasses he can only see a blur through the doorway-- he’s zipping up that navy blue suitcase with the Kermit tag.

He stands and does as Eddie told him; he washes his hands and face, he brushes his teeth really well, he rinses his mouth out with several handfuls of water. He cleans his glasses on the hem of his tee shirt, shakily, and puts them back on.

(fuck, he thinks, but in a bad way this time; _fuck_)


	7. 2016 pt. 2

_ in these coming years _  
_ many things will change _  
_ but the way i feel _  
_ will remain the same _

7.

(maybe that day when we were kids and he broke his arm and i snapped it back into place even though he screamed at me-- maybe that moment wrote this moment into fate or something, richie thinks deliriously, maybe i’m like in charge of his arm’s wellbeing or something, like cosmically, but like, i’m doing a pretty stupid job of it because)

(he looks at the wad of blood that used to be a jacket and is now eddie’s lifeline. presses it harder into the oozing, ripped up wound that used to be eddie’s arm.)

(because his arm is, like, i mean, it’s gone)

(and now maybe he’s gonna die, now maybe it will get him after all like it got stan-- stan the man, stan with the bird book, i remember cheering at his bar mitzvah and now he’s cold and dead-- and eddie was almost there too, fuck, we all were, it’s just that eddie actually lost a limb to prove it, but there’s still time for it to take him too because i don’t know how much blood he’s lost and how much blood you have to lose to die)

(god shut the fuck up rich, his subconscious shoves at him; beep beep)

“Richie?”

He snaps out of his own mind and back to the present. Blinks at the thick rain spitting out of the Maine sky. Turns away from the backseat window and looks at the person in the seat next to him.

(it’s not last week, it’s this week, he thinks stupidly; out of the sewers, out of the hospital, out of the woods)

(out of fucking derry)

Eddie never got his color back. Not yet, anyway. For now, he looks pale, and tired, and small. Down one arm. But alive.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks.

“Am _I_ okay?” Richie repeats. He shoves his glasses back up his nose. “Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” He glances out the window again, then looks back to Eddie, his shoulders fidgeting; “Are _you_ okay?”

“Sure,” Eddie says listlessly. 

(at least the shock is over, and the monitors and i.v.s are off and he isn’t crying as much)

“Are you sure you’re ready to get on a plane for like a million hours, man?” Richie asks.

“We need to get out of Derry, Rich,” Eddie says. “We’ve already been stuck there for way too long. I’m sick of it. I just want to go home.”

(yeah okay same but like who gets discharged from the hospital and then goes straight to the airport to get on a plane that very same day? he still has a bruise on his hand from the i.v.)

“We’re out of Derry now,” Richie points out. “We should be almost to Bangor. We could just stay in Bangor for a while. Or get to Portland, or Boston--”

“I wanna go home, Richie,” Eddie says impatiently. “I’m fine. My other arm isn’t going to fuckin’ fall off if I sit on an airplane for a few hours.”

“Right.”

(he’s going to be so annoyed with you if you’re too precious with him, richie reminds himself. he’s way fucking tougher than everyone thinks and he hates being coddled so don’t fucking coddle him)

(but i have to take care of him, i can’t not, he needs that, goddamn he’s recovering from losing _his entire fucking arm_)

“Only if you’re sure,” Richie hears himself add.

“I’m sure,” Eddie says. In mere seconds, he’s slipped from sounding impatient to sounding exhausted. A common side effect from losing a limb, the doctors had said-- extreme fatigue. His eyes droop closed for a second. Needing to touch Eddie somehow, not wanting to smother him or add any pain to his already impressive pain repertoire, Richie reaches over and strokes his neat dark hair back.

“I think I’ll feel better once we get home,” Eddie says, voice so quiet he might as well be whispering.

“Yeah,” Richie says, trying to sound as reassuring as he possibly can; “yeah, I’m sure you will.”

(richie wants to put his arm around eddie’s shoulders so bad, so fucking bad, but if he did that his hand would end up resting like only a couple inches above the stump and eddie probably doesn’t want that because it might hurt and it’s still so raw and)

As Richie is toiling over how he should or shouldn’t touch Eddie, Eddie leans his head against Richie’s shoulder. 

“Kids at the airport are going to be afraid of me,” he mutters.

“No they aren’t,” Richie says immediately. “It’s not like you’re walking around all bloody. And you’re covered up. Like, you’re wearing a shirt.”

(a long sleeved plaid flannel shirt, and richie had tied the right sleeve into a knot so it wouldn’t just flop around when eddie walked)

(i’m probably going to be tying his sleeves in knots for the rest of our lives, he realizes, if he’ll let me-- and tying his shoes and all kinds of other stuff, god he’s gonna hate that, i hope he doesn’t hate it too much it’s really okay i mean he would do it for me too if the roles were reversed, we have to take care of each other)

“Shirt or no shirt, it’s obvious there isn’t a fucking arm there,” Eddie says.

“I’m sure nobody is going to be afraid of you. Not even kids.”

“They are,” Eddie insists. “I would have been.”

(there’s no argument against that, richie thinks grimly)

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Guess it’s the least of my problems.”

(this uber driver is a champ for dealing with this dark ass conversation, richie thinks numbly, glancing toward the guy in the drivers’ seat)

(god if i lost eddie back there i would have to go home alone and see all his stuff, his fucking grown-up file cabinets, his fucking non-dairy milk in the fridge, his fucking gucci loafers he wears when he’s driving famous people around)

He picks up Eddie’s one remaining hand and kisses it. 

“Alright, here we are, Bangor International Airport,” the Uber driver says, pulling into a drop-off spot. 

“Perfect, thanks,” Richie says, reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt. He watches Eddie fumble with his own seatbelt for a few seconds-- the angle is all wrong, since he only has a left hand, and the buckle is to his left-- before he reaches over and unbuckles it for him. Eddie doesn’t react.

(he probably hates it but like he’s going to have to get used to me doing stuff for him)

They both scoot out Richie’s side and the driver comes around to grab their stuff from the back.

“Hey, this might be a weird time, and all,” the driver says to Richie, hazarding a quick glance toward Eddie-- “But I love that stand-up special you did a while back. The part about typing with your pinkies ‘cause you were stoned-- aw man. Gets me every time, bro.”

“Thanks,” Richie says with half a genuine smile. “Glad to hear it. Thanks for the ride, man.”

He watches the kid get back in his car and drive off for a second before grabbing their stuff. 

(move out of derry, he almost wants to shout at this friendly college-age guy-- even though we got it, even though it isn’t going to come back in twenty seven years, move the fuck out of derry oh my god why would you ever stay there)

(god i hope mike moves out)

(i’m never ever going back there as long as i live)

“Uh, are you ready?” Richie asks Eddie uselessly as they head for the doors.

“Yeah. I just want to get it over with.”

They check in at the desk, drop off their bags, and head for the winding security lines. 

(good thing we got here early, jesus christ, these lines are ridiculous)

(in richie’s mind, since he’s feeling a touch dramatic after the whole thing, everyone is funneling out of maine for good by some unseen force-- something is compelling them to leave, something is shaking the entire state until every single resident falls out and goes someplace else for their own sake)

(maybe it’s the fuckin turtle, ha)

(too bad it couldn’t do this way sooner, too fuckin bad, maybe stan wouldn’t have had to die and it would have just starved to death and wasted away down under the house on neibolt street)

He starts toying with the zipper on the water bottle holder of his backpack. Flicks it idly.

(at least the rest of us made it out alive goddamn)

“Do you think people are going to treat me different now?” Eddie asks a few minutes after they enter the security line.

“Yeah, dude,” Richie hears himself say. “You only have one arm.”

(oh fuck, trashmouth at it again am i right folks, poor eddie--)

Richie opens his mouth to apologize. But before he can get the words out, Eddie starts to laugh. “Shut up. Don’t be a dick.”

(god he has the best laugh, richie thinks; i forgot because i haven’t heard it since that first night in derry but he has such a good laugh, it’s like we’re thirteen again every time i make him laugh)

(i make people laugh for a living, i’ve heard so many different people laugh in my life, but there’s no laugh better than his)

Richie laughs too, for the first time in days, and it’s almost like some tension, some cold force of pressure, melts away from behind his eyes. Not all of it, but a little bit. A start. A hint that things are going to be okay, that he’ll be able to get on stage and make people laugh again, that he hasn’t been hammered to a pulp after all. A reminder that he’s going to be home soon, that he can resume the cozy life he’s built with his childhood crush. That things have ended the way they were meant to; nothing is truly gone or broken. They’ve vanquished the thing that tried so hard to ruin them completely, and now they get to go home and their lives get to go on without the shadow of It.

He leans down to kiss Eddie’s cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for sticking with me until the end!!!!! let me know what u think in a comment below, and feel free to send reddie fic prompts to me at golden-geese.tumblr.com :)

**Author's Note:**

> new chapters coming out hopefully every day!
> 
> my tumblrs are pramcine and golden-geese! leave a fic request at golden-geese :)
> 
> i know people were talking about a grindr au on tumblr, but i had already started this fic and didn't want to abandon it! apologies in advance if there is any overlap!!!!
> 
> please comment and leave kudos if you liked it!!!!!


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